pretend like it's the weekend now
by singsongsung
Summary: Follow-up to 3x19. Blair dates the boy who told her she was totally hot. "He doesn't give her butterflies, but he gives her...something."
1. part one

**A/N:** This isn't exactly a crack!fic but it is very random. It follows 3x19, because I ship Blair with that random Cater-Waiter guy. Reviews are love.

**pretend like it's the weekend now  
(and we can pretend it all the time, yeah)**

She calls him on a Tuesday morning, lying in bed in her robe.

"It's Blair Waldorf." She doesn't ask _remember me?_ but she supposes that it's implied in her tone.

"Oh, hey." There's a pause, then he says, "_Hey_," again and she can hear his smile. "Totally hot girl. I remember you."

* * *

She holds court in her living room even when he's the only one there, lounging in a chair with her legs crossed demurely at the ankle. She eyes him critically over the edge of her martini glass. He's not drinking but he is checking her out, so she figures that's acceptable.

"Do you know who Chuck Bass is?"

"Bass like the fish?"

He has a nice smile, Blair decides. And a perfect answer.

She laughs and nods. "Sure, like the fish."

* * *

"Friday night." It's meant to be a statement but it might sound more like a question.

"You don't have to ask." Her eyes fly to his face and he elaborates, "I already said I'd be thrilled to date you, didn't I?"

* * *

Eight-oh-two on a Friday night, he shows up in a button-down shirt and pants that look pretty nice considering they're probably from LL Bean.

Only two minutes late and he blinks at her, says, "Whoa, you look beautiful," and she finds that she likes the way that sounds coming from him even more than _totally hot_.

She smoothes out her red dress and shakes out her hair, breathes a _thank-you_ as she slinks by him and into the elevator.

* * *

"My name's Ryan." He clears his throat and holds the door of their cab open for her. "By the way."

* * *

He takes her to an art exhibit.

And she thinks it's going to be horrible, because it reminds her of Aaron Rose and meeting Chuck on a rooftop and a night that ended in tears.

But it's actually kind of nice.

Most of the art is abstract and odd, but Ryan makes fun of it all and makes her laugh. They agree that four of the pieces are actually very nice (he says five, but she shoots him down repeatedly until he finally gives in, telling her teasingly that she's impossible to argue with).

His hand brushes her back, and then his fingers touch hers, and she finds she doesn't mind.

* * *

They meet a couple of his friends there, guys in jeans and t-shirts with easy smiles. Blair shakes their hands and at one point she hears one of them hiss _dude_ at Ryan.

(She does not blush. She doesn't.)

* * *

It turns out the gallery is only a block away from his apartment, and they hover on the sidewalk for nearly twenty minutes while Ryan eats a piece of overly-greasy pizza and Blair sips water from a plastic bottle.

He's cute. She likes him. Not quite enough to give her butterflies, but enough to give her…something.

* * *

"I can take you home," he suggests.

She's not quite sure what to do. She's never really dated before. With Nate it was easier than regular, pedestrian dating, and with Chuck it was infinitely more complicated.

And it's only ten o'clock.

And Ryan's still smiling at her.

* * *

"Or?" she asks, and she lifts her chin, tries to sound coy.

He tilts his head. "My building's right there. You want to have some coffee and maybe watch a movie or something?"

She's not sure what that means, out here in the real world with boys she hasn't known since kindergarten.

But she says yes anyway.

The air is cool and the stars are bright and it feels good.

* * *

They do drink coffee. And they do watch a movie.

(It's animated and it's called _Up_ and Blair is thoroughly prepared to zone out for most of it, but she actually gets a little teary-eyed in the first ten minutes, and by the time they're one hour in she's laughing and her knee is pressed against Ryan's and his arm is slung over the back of the couch behind her.)

Afterward, the room is dark save for the dim light of the credits on the screen and his fingers are tangled in her hair.

"I can call you a cab," he says, his voice low.

Blair sighs and lets her head fall to his shoulder. "Or?" she murmurs.

* * *

She wakes up early the next morning, sunlight streaming in the window and the unfamiliar smell of his pillow pulling her from slumber.

She sits up, rakes her fingers through her hair. His room has posters on the walls, movie titles on them that she doesn't recognize and one entitled _100 Ways to Know You're a Ninja_. Like the rest of his apartment, it's small but kind of cozy. His alarm clock is cheap and the numbers blink at her in red; 9:36.

This might be what it's like, to come from somewhere else, to have New York as a second home rather than a first, to be in charge of no one but yourself, to date boys like this, sweet and goofy and kind, to watch movies instead of wearing couture. Maybe this life is the easy life.

Granted, it's never been the life she's wanted.

* * *

Blair wanders into the kitchen, self-conscious of her morning-breath and mussed-up hair and Ryan's baggy t-shirt and his plaid pyjama pants that are so big around her hips that she had to cinch in the drawstring at the waist and then roll them down three times.

The couch has a pillow and a wrinkled blanket on it, but he's not asleep there, he's cooking – noisily – in his tiny kitchen.

"Good morning," she says softly, leaning her elbows on the counter. She convinces herself that bedhead can be sexy.

Ryan gives her that boyish grin. "Hey, you." He slides a plate across the counter: pancakes and orange slices.

Her cheeks burn. "You made me breakfast?" she asks, sceptical. It's not like she put out. They haven't even kissed.

"Most important meal of the day." He seems like a morning person and that's kind of adorable. "I love food."

She laughs a little, cutting a small piece off of one of her pancakes and spearing it with her fork. She sighs. "Of course you do."

* * *

Her cell phone rings while they're eating.

(She's stopped caring that she's wearing his pyjamas and is busy throwing grapes for him to catch in his mouth.

Thus far, he's failed every time.)

"Just a second," she says through her laughter, rummaging through her bag. "Hey, S. Can I call you back?"

"Where are you?" Serena sounds especially quiet. "I need to talk to you."

Blair tosses a grape lazily. Ryan catches it. He stands up, arms thrown up in the air victoriously as he chews.

She smiles. "Is everything okay?" she says into the phone as Ryan leans across the counter and gives her an impulsive kiss on the cheek.

She stops breathing for a moment. Serena says softly, again, "Where are you?"

* * *

She has to do the walk of shame.

Never, in her life, has Blair Waldorf done something so very cliché and collegiate.

She stares at herself in Ryan's crooked mirror, her pretty red dress and her nice shoes and her barely-brushed hair. It's better than wearing his clothes, but not by much.

"I look ridiculous," she sighs, tugging at the fabric.

Ryan leans against the doorframe, giving her a look she can't quite decipher.

"Nah," he says.

* * *

He hails her cab for her. Blair appreciates a little chivalry.

"Can I call you?"

She hesitates. "I'll call you."

"Okay." He looks a little disappointed.

"I will," she insists, and she finds that she just might mean it.

He leans down and kisses her, softly and just for a few seconds.

It doesn't give her butterflies.

Well. Maybe just _one_.

* * *

Nate is sitting on her bed when she gets home, eyes glued to some action movie that he's watching on her tv. Serena is _in_ her bed, nose pressed to Nate's hip, half-asleep.

"You better be clothed," Blair grumbles as she sets her purse down and steps out of her shoes.

Serena's eyes flutter open, she murmurs, "I am." Pushing herself into a sitting position, she adds, "So are _you_. In last night's clothes."

"Mm-hm."

"Did you have a _date_?" Nate asks, his blue eyes wide. Serena's expression matches his.

"Maybe," Blair says. Serena lifts the covers and Blair obliges the wordless request, slipping into her bed.

Serena curls toward her instead, her eyes searching. "Do you maybe have another date?"

Blair sighs, rests her forehead against her friend's. "Maybe."

"Sorry I interrupted."

"It's okay, S." Blair notices, then, that Nate is now watching Serena instead of the movie. Frowning, she asks, "What's wrong? You said you needed to talk."

Serena sighs, her cheek pressed against Blair's pillow. "You look happy."

And Blair nods, smiling a little in spite of herself. "I am." She pauses. "But you're not."

* * *

Five hours later the girls are in the same position, curled up in Blair's bed. Nate's gone, having made a lame excuse about running errands even though they all knew he was going to check up on Chuck. Blair is picking between Audrey movies when her phone rings, and Serena snatches it up.

"Hello? No, this is her best friend. Mm-hm."

"Give me that – "

Serena waves Blair's reaching hands away. "Oh, _hi_. Yes, she is _right here_. I'll give her the phone." She holds out the phone, and in the loudest whisper ever, says, "Blair, _it's a boy_."

"S, for the love of god," Blair mutters as she grabs her cell, but she can't say anything more because Serena's smiling for what might be the first time all day. "Hello?" she asks, trying to keep her voice measured and calm.

"Hey." She recognizes Ryan's voice instantly.

"Hi." She licks her lips. "I said I'd call you."

"Yeah, I know. I broke the rules."

She smiles down at the movies she's holding. She can definitely work with that.

"So, I had a lot of fun with you last night."

Blair nods even though he can't see her. "I had a nice time, too."

"You, uh…forgot this hair-clippy thing on my dresser."

She laughs and Serena kicks her foot. She kicks back. "Oh, thanks, but I don't actually need that."

"Right, of course." There's a pause, and his voice drops a bit. "I was kind of hoping you did."

"Well, maybe…" She fumbles for something to say. Serena kicks her foot again. She glares and takes a deep breath, offers, "Maybe that can be arranged."


	2. part two

**A/N:** This was intended to be a oneshot, but since so many people asked me if I might consider continuing it, I decided to give in and do so. I don't expect it to be very long, but we'll see where it goes. Thank you so much for your feedback!

* * *

**part two**

* * *

Ryan convinces her to skip her 10:15 Lit class on Thursday morning.

"To do what, exactly?" she demands, but she's already tucked her books back into her bag.

* * *

He teaches her to make banana pancakes on his tiny excuse for a kitchen.

Blair is reluctant, at first, because she's never really cooked before (not like this, not without Dorota to do the actual work), but then he reaches around her, his chest pressed lightly to her back, and rolls up the sleeves of her filmy blouse for her.

She can feel his heart beating against her own.

And she likes it.

* * *

It's quite a mess.

Blair's a little lost, reading out the recipe and avoiding Ryan's gooey fingers and squealing when he threatens to crack an egg over her hair.

"You wouldn't _dare_," she breathes out, but something about his smile makes her think that he just might.

He doesn't though; he puts her in charge of peeling and slicing bananas instead. She's a little more than amazed when actual pancakes start to take form in the frying pan.

"You wanna flip?" Ryan asks her, eyebrows waggling.

Blushing, she declines. They'd probably get stuck on the ceiling.

* * *

There is flour smeared all over one side of her soft navy blue skirt.

She laughs it off.

* * *

The recipe makes six pancakes – _three each_, he says, but she pouts and smiles and moves closer until he finally agrees, two for her and he'll have four.

"Eat first," he insists, dragging her away from the disaster zone. "Clean later."

She wants to protest, but only for a second and she holds back. He sets up a picnic for them on his living room floor, plates and glasses on top of one of his blankets.

"You really like to eat, don't you?" she murmurs, watching as he soaks his pancakes in syrup.

"Of course," he says, and he drowns her pancakes too, before she can say a word about it.

He waits for her to take the first bite. She chews self-consciously and licks her sticky lips.

"Good?" Ryan prompts.

Blair exhales. Her lips curl into a smile, slowly but surely, and she makes no effort to stop it from happening. "Yeah." She takes another bite. "Really good."

* * *

They toast: to their excellent teamwork, to delicious pancakes –

And then he looks right into her eyes and says steadily, "To you."

* * *

For clean-up, Ryan puts on music that he hums along to as he digs out sponges and paper towels.

"Who is this?" Blair asks softly.

"Are you kidding me?" His eyes are wide, full of incredulity.

She stiffens a little. "No."

He laughs, and it's a warm sound that puts her instantly at ease. "It's James Blunt."

Blair shrugs. She remembers, possibly, reading his name is gossip-magazine articles, and maybe, briefly, Serena's squeals over something or the other. She doesn't subscribe to anyone's pop culture; she's always had her own.

"It's nice," she says as the lyrics wrap themselves around her; _you're beautiful, it's true._

"Would your rather Mozart?" It's a joke, free of judgment.

She throws her sponge at him and plants a hand on her hip. "Like you'd recognize Mozart," she scoffs playfully. "You clearly need your horizons broadened."

Ryan's eyebrows rise and he leans across the counter, toward her. "Or maybe you do, Miss Waldorf."

"Touché," she says quietly.

* * *

He laughs. (She loves his laugh.)

"You've got flour on your nose."

"I don't," she protests. Even if she does, she's up to her elbows in dishwater and there's nothing she can do about it.

"You do," Ryan chuckles. "Here, I'll get it."

She stays very still as he reaches over and wipes it away gently with his dishcloth.

"There," he says mutedly. His nose can't be more of an inch away from hers.

Breathless all of a sudden, she whispers, "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He touches her cheek.

She thinks it happens in slow-motion, the way his eyes search hers and he leans in closer, closer, closer, until all of a sudden her eyes are closed and his lips are touching hers.

Ryan tastes sweet, like syrup and apple juice, and she sighs contentedly against his mouth. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue past her lips as his arm snakes around her waist, tugging her body to his. She pulls her hands from the sink, her wet fingers latching onto the fabric of his t-shirt, clutching it lightly. His hand cups her cheek and he shifts them a little, so that her back is pressed up against the counter. The edge of it digs into her spine but she doesn't really care.

For a split-second, she feels like nothing has ever been so perfect.

Her life, for that split second, is the movie she's always wanted it to be.

* * *

And then the moment seems to implode on itself.

Blair pulls away, breathes, _"Wait…"_ and all the lights in the room are just pinpricks when she opens her eyes. Everything spins and everything blurs.

"What is it?" Ryan murmurs.

She takes a gasp-y breath and realizes that she's about to cry.

"I just – I can't – " She wipes her hands frantically on her skirt. "I have to go."

"Blair…" His voice is soft and calm and she just _needs to leave_.

"I'm sorry," she says around the lump in her throat, scrambling for her purse and her heels. She's desperate for composure but she can't seem to find it. "I just…I _can't_," she tells him, and her voice cracks.

"Wait – please."

She shakes her head, backing toward his door. She opens her mouth to speak, but it turns out she has nothing to say.

So she just leaves. And she tries not to think to hard about the baffled look on his face (the one that combined disappointment and confusion and hurt).

* * *

She sits on her bathroom floor for nearly an hour.

Most of that time she spends trying not to cry or think – but she does cry a little and she definitely thinks too much.

She really wants to purge. She keeps thinking about Chuck and how he sold her out, how she wasn't worth more than that when he'd been worth everything to her, of how she feels a little ruined now.

But then she thinks of Ryan, of _eat first, clean later_ and how it was fun, it was good, and how he kissed her first.

It takes her another half hour to get up and shower and focus on the paper she needs to write, but she doesn't throw up.

* * *

Dorota eyes her worriedly when she brings her a snack in the early evening. Blair's still at her desk, peering at the pages of a thick book and typing quickly.

"You're alright, Miss Blair?" she asks hesitantly.

Blair smiles distractedly and eats two bites. "I'm alright," she confirms.

* * *

She gets into bed at nine o'clock. At eleven-twenty-two she's still wide awake.

In the darkness, she plays nervously with her phone. She wonders if she should text Ryan. An apology might be in order.

She flops onto her back and sighs in frustration. It's harder, like this, when she's only known him for a few days and she broke down in the middle of his kitchen like an idiot.

She only has two texts from him in her inbox. She hardly thinks those constitute any sort of relationship.

Nonetheless, she reads both for the infinite time. The first simply says _hey you_ and the second reads _skip off today_. She smiles wistfully.

* * *

"What're you smiling about?" Serena's standing in her doorway, arms crossed and eyes curious.

Blair drops her phone. "_You_," she says cheekily, looking pointedly at Serena's skimpy nightgown. "Won't Nate be disappointed?"

"Please." Serena wanders into the room and sits on the edge of Blair's bed. "You and me? He probably has fantasies."

They giggle together and Blair makes a face. "Where _is_ your boy?"

"Studying. He has a midterm tomorrow." Serena tilts her head and asks in her most innocent voice, "And where's _your_ boy, B?"

"What boy?" she deflects immediately, giving Serena a warning look.

Her best friend throws back her head a little as she laughs. "I'm not gonna dignify that with an answer," she says smugly.

"Fine," Blair shoots back, tugging at her sheets. "I'm trying to sleep, anyway."

Wordlessly, Serena reaches over her body, finding Blair's cell phone in the sheets. "Don't text him," she says knowingly.

Blair sits up, glaring, but she lets some hesitance slip into her voice as she says, "You don't know what happened."

"So what?" Serena asks softly. "Make him work for you, B."

She bites her lip. That's not her modus operandi. She worked for Nate until she couldn't work anymore. She worked for Chuck until she was heartbroken. Blair Waldorf works for what she wants, and then she gets it (most of the time, anyway).

Serena touches her hair. "You deserve it," she says softly and she slips off the bed. "I'll be taking _this_," she informs Blair with a smile, waving the phone in the air as the twirls out of the room. "Sleep tight." She blows a kiss from the doorway.

"Bitch," Blair mutters half-heartedly. Her hands feel empty now.

She frowns when she settles back into her sheets and pillows, but she thinks she has good dreams.

* * *

Serena bounds into her room at seven o'clock the next morning, already dressed for the day, which probably means she's going home to see Lily and William.

"Wake up!" she demands, moving around so that the mattress shakes.

"_What?_" Blair snaps, sitting up and tugging her eye-mask away.

Serena holds out Blair's cell phone.

The screen says _sweet dreams_.

"He texted," Blair says disbelievingly as she grabs the phone. The message was sent and received at midnight exactly, which she finds a bit romantic. "But I…"

"B." Serena's already halfway out the door. "Whatever it is, I don't think he cares."

* * *

Blair nestles back into her blankets to get her beauty sleep, phone sitting at the edge of her nightstand.

Her peaceful smile lasts from the time she falls back into an easy slumber to the moment she wakes up again.


	3. part three

**A/N:** Thank you very much for your feedback!

* * *

**part three**

* * *

Nate wants to go to a party.

The girls whine in unison. Serena wants to stay at home and hang out with her family, especially now that Eric's back from Andover. Blair wants to lock herself in her bedroom and listen to James Blunt on repeat.

But Nate's having none of that. "Okay, first of all? The two of you have been in two very different – but equally understandable – states of sadness for the past couple weeks. It needs to stop. You can't just lie around in bed for the rest of your lives."

Serena blinks at him with troubled eyes, and Blair thinks that _might_ get them a free pass, but Nate holds his ground.

"_No_," he says firmly. "There is a party just a couple blocks away from Columbia tonight and I want to go and both of you are coming with me."

Blair rolls her eyes. "Nate – "

He cuts her off with a sweeping motion of his hand and points at them both. "The two of _you_ used to make _me_ dress up _all the time_ so you could _drag_ me places. Fair is fair. You _owe_ me."

Then he gives her the sternest look she thinks she's ever seen on his face and presses a kiss to the side of Serena's head. "Nine o'clock. Be ready, please."

Serena curls back up into the nest of blankets she's created on the couch and flips open an old magazine, pouting. Blair sighs and looks back at her textbook.

"Well," she muses, "at least I don't have to rely on Dan Humphrey to take me this time."

* * *

So the girls go shopping.

It takes Serena all of seven minutes to find a casual dress that makes her look like a supermodel, and Blair's envious. It's so easy when you're blond and tall and you and your boyfriend like the exact same (something blue and short, as the case is). Blair tries on ten dresses and finds a flaw in every one of them.

"Maybe if I had it hemmed," she murmurs, turning to check herself out from another angle. She's standing in front of the mirror outside her dressing room; Serena is sitting on a leathery couch a couple feet away. She tugs at the fabric. "It might need to be taken in, too."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Serena's tone is knowing, maybe even understanding, but she sounds weary and it reminds Blair that Serena has a lot of other things to think about – scary, potentially life-changing things.

That's why she tries to be concise when she lets go of all the places she's holding her dress in and up and out and says, "It's just…too soon."

Serena laughs and Blair glances over her, startled but smiling at the sound.

"B," Serena says. "It's never too soon to be happy. Also? Wear jeans tonight."

* * *

At the party, she sees those girls with the headbands whose names she can never remember, makes small talk about events and the newest gossip with them before Serena comes over and pulls them all out onto the dance floor.

Nate finds them there, wraps his arms around Serena from behind and meets Blair's eyes as he says, "Come on, I want you to meet some people."

* * *

He leads them over to several couches piled with students. Most of his friends are boys, athletes with friendly smiles and loud voices and impressive biceps. Everything about Serena screams _taken_ and most of them have already met Nate's girlfriend, so when Nate sits down on one of the couches and Serena settles onto his lap, her head on his shoulder, Blair sits on another couch and finds herself receiving most of the male attention.

To her surprise, she's not really interested. She likes these boys, with their backgrounds and their trust funds and their nice shirts, she doesn't _like_ any of them enough to do anything but smile and nod as they converse around her.

* * *

She sees _him_ across the room when it's edging toward midnight and her heart starts to pound, an automatic reaction.

"Seriously?" she seethes under her breath, channelling all of her emotions into anger. She does not appreciate the way he's stalking her.

It doesn't help much that she sees Ryan less than a moment later – she does a double-take, and it's definitely him. Her heart pounds again (unprecedented).

She turns toward Serena, prepared to beg for help, but all of Nate's friends have drifted away and he's sitting in the corner of the couch, Serena draped over his lap – their foreheads are pressed together and Serena's eyes are shiny; all signs point to it being a do-not-interrupt kind of conversation.

Blair sighs and decides she can fend for herself. She stands up and reaches down instinctively to smooth out her skirt – and then she remembers that she's wearing jeans.

* * *

She makes herself take a deep breath. She walks past Chuck, pretends not to notice him at all, and ends up standing at Ryan's side instead.

"Hey!" he half-yells over the music the moment he sees her. She can't help but love the way he looks happy to see her. "What're you doing here?"

"Came with a friend," she answers, raising her voice. "What are _you_ doing here?"

He laughs. "I _go_ here."

She can feel her eyes widen. "To Columbia?" she asks – and the answer is obviously _yes_, but she's just surprised.

He nods, angling his body toward hers. "Yeah, part-time. I have to work to help pay my tuition."

"Oh," she says faintly. She smiles.

Ryan smiles back, hands his drink to a random friend of his and rests his hand at the small of her back. "Do you want to get some air?"

She closes her eyes and nods gratefully. "Sounds perfect."

* * *

He takes her up to the roof.

(Blair isn't a fan of roofs – they are places where hearts break and there's much too far to fall.)

"You okay?" Ryan asks.

She bites her lip. She wants to say no.

But then he takes off his sweater, a zip-up hoodie with the name of some brand she's never heard of emblazoned on the front, and drapes it gently over her shoulders.

She nods. "I'm okay."

* * *

"So let me guess," Ryan says.

They're sitting on the rooftop, now, and Blair is glad for her jeans, a layer of denim between her skin and the rough concrete. She's slipped her arms into his sweater and is hugging it tight around her. From this height, Manhattan is not as noisy and not quite as bright; she's starting to feel like she could conquer it again.

"Alright, guess." Her arm presses against his.

"There's a guy, right? An ex-boyfriend?"

Her mouth twists. "Am I that obvious?"

Ryan laughs, reminds her, "When I first met you, you were planning a party for the city's most eligible bachelors."

"Right," she murmurs, glancing away. It's strange, but in a good way, how easy it is for him to make her feel shy. She'd forgotten, until this point, that when they first met she was _Blair Waldorf: hostess_ not _Blair Waldorf: ready to date_.

(That kind of makes her like him more.)

"Yes, I'd been dating someone for…a while. It was very…intense," she finally settles on. "And it didn't end well."

"Hard to let go."

"Yes." She thinks of Chuck, downstairs at the party, and wonders if she'd be more or less upset if he _wasn't_ following her around the city and trying to get her back. "Very."

"You're one of those girls, aren't you?"

Blair arches an eyebrow. "_What_ girls?"

"You believe in a soulmates and true love and all that. You want the fairytale." His doesn't quite take her hand, but he does tap his fingers gently against her palm. "Right?"

"I thought I did," she murmurs. "And then I thought it was an overrated ideal. And now…"

His fingers thread through hers; his hand is warm and welcome. "And now," he says, more like an agreement than a question.

* * *

Blair sighs and the cool air fills her lungs quickly enough to sting. "Tell me about _you_," she says, almost an order. She snuggles into his sweater and waits.

And so he does.

He's from Canada, a small town with a name that makes her laugh – it doesn't sound like it could be real. She makes him say _eh_ and he tells her that everyone at school thinks that he has a funny way or pronouncing _bagel_, so the two of them compare the ways they say it until they can't remember which is right anymore.

His parents are divorced, and she tells him that hers are, too, about her father and Roman and their French vineyard, about her mother and Cyrus and Aaron and _not enough_. Ryan finds that endlessly amusing.

"They should make your life into a movie, Blair Waldorf," he comments with a shake of his head, and she preens a little, can't help but say,

"They _should_, shouldn't they?"

He says he used play hockey (and she rolls her eyes at the stereotype, thinks he'd get along with Nate) and he was his high school's valedictorian and he always wanted to live in a big city so he moved to New York three days after graduation.

"Maybe your life needs a movie, too," she teases.

He has a younger sister – and it's adorable, the way he talks about her, all pride and protectiveness. Blair tells him about Dorota and Vanya and their baby and how that _almost_ makes Blair a big sister and how she fully expects to be made godmother.

Ryan laughs. "Sounds like she really loves you."

"Yeah…" Blair shrugs, shivering a little. "I think she's always just wanted me to be happy."

He wraps her in a bear hug to warm her up. "That's a pretty central part of the definition of love, don't you think?"

She doesn't say anything but she nods against his shoulder.

* * *

Nate texts her shortly after two o'clock in the morning,

_S wants to go – where r u?_

She fiddles with her phone for a second before she replies. _with a friend._

_coming home w us?_

She looks at the stars and then at Ryan's face. "My friends are going, I should probably…"

"Yeah." He bounds to his feet and offers her both of his hands. "It's getting late. Sorry I stole you from the party."

"Should be," she says loftily. "And we _still_ don't know if snakes have ears."

"They _must_!" he cries laughingly.

"No way."

"I'm Googling it the second I get home."

Blair purses her lips. "Not if I Google it first."

He waggles his eyebrows. "Tell me – how's that guy going to react when I walk you downstairs?"

Her smile fades; she goes to shrug out of his sweater. "I guess we'll find out."

"No, keep it!" Ryan insists, pulling it back onto her shoulders and zipping it back up for her. "Looks good on you."

* * *

She doesn't see Chuck downstairs, even though she glances around when she introduces Ryan to Nate and Serena, nor does she feel any eyes on her when she hugs Ryan goodbye.

But she can't help but wonder if he sees her.

* * *

_no ears_, she texts Ryan from her bedroom, laptop open in front of her as she tries not to listen to the rumble of Nate's voice in the hallway and Serena's subsequent giggling.

She examines her list of saved text messages from Chuck, her finger hovering over the button that will delete them all.

She can't do it just yet.


	4. part four

**A/N:** Thank you so much for your feedback! I'm sorry for the delay for this update – the show sucked and it just sort of zapped all my creativity.

* * *

She skips her Renaissance History class on both Wednesday _and_ Friday – she and Ryan get ridiculously addicted to _Harper's Island_ and spend hours curled close together in front of each other's laptops, determined to know who the killer is. Neither of them guess correctly, but he lets her pretend, in the end, that she knew who it was all along.

She doesn't do the readings for her Anthro course on economic development; instead Ryan takes her out for gelato and they walk along the city streets until dusk fades into night and her feet are begging for a break.

In the past, she thinks, these would have been signs that her life was falling apart.

Now they are signs that she's putting the pieces back together.

* * *

She comes home one day to find Serena, Chuck, and an almost-empty bottle of scotch sitting on her living room floor.

For a moment she can only stare, before she asks sharply, her voice at a higher pitch: "_Serena?_" by which she means _explain yourself this instant. _

"Calm down, Waldorf," Chuck answers lazily – even though she was definitely not speaking to him. "We were just having a conversation."

Serena blinks big blue eyes up at her. "With drinks," she adds unnecessarily.

"Serena," Blair says again, because it's the safest word she can think of.

"Chuck brought you flowers," Serena replies. "And chocolates, and – "

Her hands clench into fists. "This is _my_ house, Serena, you don't just get to – "

And all of a sudden, out of nowhere, Nate appears. His wraps his hand around her elbow and pulls her out of the room without a word.

"What are you doing?" she demands once they're in the kitchen, yanking her arm free.

His eyes drift over her face, wide and dark blue. "Are you okay?"

She scoffs, doesn't bother answering. "How could you let him in here?" she hisses. "You _know_ what he did, you _know _– "

"Yeah, I know," Nate cuts her off. "But Serena doesn't, and she's kind of in a crappy place right now, so when he walked in here all she saw was her brother offering to get her drunk." He shrugs.

Blair narrows her eyes dangerously. "Are you saying this is _my_ fault for not telling her?"

"No, I'm saying…" He blows out his breath. "I'm just saying it's not her fault because she didn't know. I wasn't here when he first came in, I had a game earlier. It's not like I want my girlfriend and best friend getting trashed in the middle of the afternoon."

She sighs, her anger dissipating. "Fine."

"Look, I'll get him to leave if you get Serena to bed for me."

She smiles a little; there's something familiar, almost nostalgic, about those words. "Some things never change," she sighs.

Nate grins.

* * *

She invites Ryan over for dinner on a Friday night.

(It's the proper thing to do. Her mother and Cyrus are in Paris, but Serena and Nate count as family, so she thinks it's enough.)

He smiles when she asks him, rubs at the back of his neck nervously. "You're gonna have to give me some guidelines as to what the dress code is. The last time I was at your place I had a uniform to wear."

She smiles. She likes his t-shirts and soft sweaters and jeans that are casual but not all ripped up.

"Wear what you always wear," she says.

* * *

The meal is catered. Blair reads recipes excellently but her actual culinary skills are limited, and Nate and Serena are just hopeless when it comes to feeding themselves – those two seem to think that Pop-Tarts are gourmet food.

She wears a dress (simple but with pretty detailing) and she picks out Nate's clothes for him, slacks and plaid shirt, even though he huffs and rolls his eyes playfully at her, and Serena comes into her room to twirl around and ask for Blair's opinion on her outfit of jeans and a white shirt.

In the dining room, there are candles on the table, but she re-thinks that at the last minutes and puts a couple bouquets of flowers on instead.

For the first time in her entire life, the table looks too large, the décor looks ostentatious, and the lineup of four different forks for varying portions of the meal seems a little ridiculous.

But only a little.

* * *

If dinner is a mess, it's a flawless one.

Serena greets Ryan the second he gets off the elevator with a bright smile and stories about that time when they were fourteen that she convinced Blair to go skinny-dipping and they almost got caught by the Coast Guard; she whispers, "_Embarrassing stories are a requirement, B, so shhh_" when Blair attempts to protest.

Nate smiles just as warmly and the guys fall into an intense conversation about hockey teams halfway through appetizers. Serena takes the opportunity to kick at Blair's ankle under the table and arch her eyebrows and mouth _he's cute_ super-obviously, all of which are things Blair studiously tries to ignore.

Instead, she chooses to add points in the sports-themed conversation as often as she can. Which, it turns out, is almost never.

Just when she's beginning panic, beginning to think she put too much dressing on her salad, beginning to believe all of this might have been a mistake, the main course is brought out and Ryan enthuses, "I love salmon," and winks at her across the table.

* * *

"So, Ryan," Nate says once he finishes dessert, suddenly very somber, "What are your intentions?"

"_Nate_," Blair whines, her cheeks flaming. She would stab his foot with her shoe if they were sitting close enough.

"I'm just _asking_, Blair."

"Well, _don't_."

Serena interrupts with the giggly instruction: "Ignore them." She slips out of her chair and wraps her arms around Nate's neck, leaning down to whisper in his ear.

Nate heaves a sigh, but he smiles. "Apparently, we like you."

Ryan laughs, his eyes dancing in a way that makes Blair's heart flutter the slightest bit. "Apparently, eh?"

"No worries," Serena says, as Nate gets up and takes her hand, leading her out of the room, "Someone here _really_ likes you."

Blair glares, but Serena just makes a face back.

Ryan turns to her once the other couple leaves, laughing about something a couple rooms away. His laughter is softer, gentler when he asks, "Really, eh?"

* * *

"I like your friends, you know," he says. He's moved his chair much closer to hers, so that their thighs are touching, while Blair picks idly at the rest of her cheesecake.

"They're ridiculous," she replies with a roll of her eyes, but she knows that the way her lips quirk must give her away, so she admits, "But I love them."

He plays with her hair, winds curls around his fingers, and she can feel his breath against her neck. "I think a person's friends say a lot about them."

She meets his eyes, widening her own browns ones. "I didn't realize this was a test," she says coyly, setting her fork down.

"Doesn't matter." His gaze drops to her mouth and then darts back up, their eyes locking. "You passed with flying colours."

Her smile softens and she nods toward her cheesecake. "Help me finish?" she requests, handing him her fork.

"You have to help me help you finish," he says teasingly, and he pops a bite into her mouth before she can protest.

* * *

When she kisses him, his mouth tastes like chocolate and wine and the kind of possibility that has the potential to fill her heart to capacity.

* * *

"So?" Blair asks, arching her eyebrows at her reflection in the mirror before she sticks her toothbrush back into her mouth. Serena is standing behind her, in the doorway of the bathroom.

Her best friend yawns and then smiles. "He makes you happy."

Blair turns on the tap and spits neatly, lets her hair fall into her face to conceal the sudden grin that's pulling at her lips.

"Yeah," she says, "He does."

* * *

Ryan meets her after one of her classes one day, takes her books from her arms and hands her a French vanilla latte, wraps an arm around her waist and kisses her full on the lips, right there on the sidewalk, under the sun, murmuring, "_You're beautiful,_" against her mouth.

He eats with her at one of NYU's dining halls. He draws a heart in kitchen over the plate of fries that they share.

She giggles and brushes her legs against his beneath the table. It occurs to her, briefly, that maybe this is how love is supposed to be.

* * *

They go to an off-off-Broadway show on a Wednesday night. The acting is good and the storylines are awful, but the things Blair will always remember about that night are the games of tic-tac-toe she and Ryan play on the back of his program using a monogrammed pen from her purse, and the way he holds her hand nearly the entire time.

Afterward, they walk back to his place and by the time they enter his apartment they're both breathless with laughter and neither of them can remember what the joke is.

On his couch, they kiss and kiss, and he lays her across the cushions gently and trails his lips down her neck, slips a hand very slowly under the hem of her dress; gives her plenty of time to protest.

She doesn't say a word, just kisses him back and presses a hand against the back of his neck, but he pulls away anyhow, brushing her hair out of her face with careful fingers.

He balances his weight over her carefully, asks, "What're you thinking, Blair?"

She frowns a bit, tilts her chin up to kiss him again. "What are _you_ thinking about?"

He laughs lowly. "I'm thinking I want to know what's bothering you."

"I'm just…not entirely sure what you are to me," she murmurs cautiously, her eyes searching his. _Are you my boyfriend?_ She doesn't know if she's ready for that.

Ryan smiles at her and her heart pounds and he runs a hand over her side as he tells her, "I am whatever you want me to be."

To her surprise, the first thought that pops into her head is, _mine_.

* * *

With Ryan, the first time is different.

There are no split-second decisions, no abrupt bravery, no impulses, no limos. Nor are there years of planning; no hotel room, no candles, no lacy lingerie purchased months before.

It just happens…_naturally_. On a day when they've spent a couple hours on his bed, talking and laughing and kissing; it's early evening and the sun is starting to set, bursts of light seeping in through his windows, casting a glow over the room.

Blair lets him undress her and lie her down and it all feels good – she loves the sound of his voice when he whispers to her and the feeling of his skin against hers and the way he touches her, delicately but with surety.

She doesn't know if he assumes that she's a virgin or if he assumes that she's not or if he even assumes anything at all, but he kisses her sweetly, tongue sweeping past her lips, and he asks her, "_Okay?_"

And she's a little bit shaky but she smiles back at him just as sweetly as he kissed her, murmurs, "Okay."

(And she is glad he does not ask her if she's sure.)

**tbc.**


End file.
